What do you have that you would share
with a stranger, to blank page of stationery?
Is it confidence or curiosity? Query
or confusion. In your letter, will you say
most of your dreams are shaped like clouds,
or ask how the rain tastes
on their side of the shadow?
We all lead different lives, tempered
by second-hand knowledge, first-person
accountability, and animal instincts.
Watermarks across our silken soul.
Experiences: we have them all, at any age.
What will you write about as you
commit your life to paper.
You could always enthusiastically
talk about the weather, but
isn’t that what old men do, as they recall
the summer of ’67, and the rain.
Remember, they will say.
Older women, instead, will write
of more significant memories, like
the scent of patchouli or
heartfelt bewilderment, as their clothes
dried on the back of wicker chairs.
Dare they share the details, or will you?
Will you make sense of the emotions?
Trapped in this fluctuating state of grace
we all try to understand. We all try
to survive in a world messed up
by assholes and algorithms.
What will you share that might
help a stranger cope more contentedly,
or smile a little deeper?
What will they write back?